


Bees in Bed: Yang's Dream

by Kiiratam



Series: Bees in Bed [13]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Blood, Canon Compliant, Comfort, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 05:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20187376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiiratam/pseuds/Kiiratam
Summary: Yang has a good dream.Takes place between Volumes 4 & 5. (My BMBLB fic index)Please note, there is anexplicit smutty version as well.





	Bees in Bed: Yang's Dream

Yang slammed the heavy door behind her, dropped the bar in place. Collapsed back against it, hair bloody with rain. Slowly slid down the door until she was sitting at the base, panting, trying to get her breath back.

  
She couldn't hear the thunder anymore. If you could call it thunder. Thunder made Nora laugh and dance for joy. This sounded more like tearing leather, echoing from end to end of the starless sky. A starless sky that rained blood and flashed with red lightning. She didn't know where she was, how she'd gotten here, but Yang was absolutely certain that it was not a good place.

  
At least the door was solid. She hadn't seen what was chasing her, had only heard the noises it made. Yang absolutely did not want to see it. She knew it was big, but she'd crawled through a tunnel the size of a storm drain, until her knees were bruised and her arm ached, and she could hear it squelching through the tunnel after her.

  
But the door was solid, the bar was solid, the 'thunder' was silenced. She was sitting in a pool of blood, but almost none of it was hers. Yang checked her stump. The dressing had soaked through again. And she could tell her blood from the bleeding sky. She wasn't sure what it was. A whiff of motor oil? Bumblebee was still with her, even after the road had collapsed under both of them.

  
She finally caught her breath. Still deep, still trying to recover, but steady. Not the choking wheeze from blood flying into her mouth when she ran. Not the painful stitch in her side, stabbing at her lungs. She swiped bloody bangs out of her face, looking around. Yang wasn't completely sure that she'd be able to stand again, but at least she could see where she was.

  
Before her was a small coatroom, mostly empty. One wall was lined with hooks for coats, above a bench with boot scrapers underneath. The other wall had a small washbasin, and a table with clean towels. A bathrobe was hanging nearby. Opposite Yang and the reinforced door was a simple wooden door.

  
Yang laid her head back against the door. If it was a trap, at least she could be cleaner before the end. If it wasn't - well, she'd feel bad about messing up their towels, but with everything outside, she was sure that whoever lived here would understand.

  
She tried to heave herself to her feet. Felt her left leg give out, and thudded back down into the pool of blood, sending droplets splattering. Yang forced a breath out. She rolled forward onto her hand and knees. Crawled to the bench. Pushed herself up onto it, tucking her stump back so she wasn't tempted to use it to take the weight. She'd pushed open the door with it, and the pain had nearly made her black out.

  
Yang looked back to the heavy door, the bloody trail leading to where she sat now. "Progress. Come on, Yang, Get changed." She heaved a leg up on the bench, pulled her boot off. Dropped it under the bench. Repeated the process. Pulled off sodden socks, laid them on the bench. She'd lost her jacket earlier, so it was just a matter of pulling her bloody rag of a shirt off. A struggle, given her stump's current sensitivity, but one she'd had practice with. There was barely anything of it left, but she put it next to her socks anyway. Who knows if she'd be able to get more clothes? Her pants, at least, were mostly intact. Worth the lien, apparently. Getting them off, though, was more of a trial. She nearly fell off the bench a few times before pulling them off. "Great job, Yang. Up against the ropes because of your clothes."

  
Looking down at her underwear, she considered. If it was a trap, she wanted to be able to fight. She could do that while bouncing around, but it wouldn't be fun. And it wasn't like her hair wasn't still blood-slicked, dripping down her back. Yang slid along the bench, until she wasn't in the blood smear. Put her feet down, and rose unsteadily, bracing herself against the wall with her shoulder.

  
"Okay. Standing. Good." She took a step, then another. Made it to the basin. Squeezed the worst of the blood out of her hair. Wrapped it up in a towel. Yang looked up into the small mirror over the basin. She still looked like a murder victim. Wet down a wash cloth, washed her face. Enough so that she wasn't a pair of violet eyes in a sea of red. Wouldn't want to attend a dance like this, but for the field, it was passable. Dried the blood off the rest of her body. Replaced the dressing on her stump with an awkwardly tied-towel. The pile of bloody towels was growing alarmingly large. Yang was still leaning against the wall for support. She looked at the bathrobe. White. She sighed, grabbed it off the hook. Put it on.

  
Nothing else for it. She couldn't go back through the barred door. Yang opened the other door. Nearly fell to her knees at what she saw.

  
She switched on the shower, and threw off the rest of her clothes. Stepped into the shower, and let the hot water wash away the blood and stress. Yang wasn't sure how long she showered. Long enough to thoroughly wash her hair, and her stump to stop bleeding. She shut the water off, and looked around through the steam for a towel.

  
Right by the shower, where she would have left it herself. Yang toweled off, feeling more like a person than she had in... days? Weeks? Months? She didn't even know.

  
She couldn't find her clothes. Or the door she'd come in by. There was only another door forward, with another white bathrobe hanging by it. Somehow, this didn't worry Yang. She wasn't sure if she was still too tired, or if the shower had stabilized her, or what, but she pulled on the new bathrobe, belted it on, and went through the only door.

  
Nearly cried. A bed, neatly made, dominated the room. Bigger than she needed, but that just meant she could sprawl out. A few stumbling steps, and she face-planted into the bed. Not too soft, not too firm. Yang crawled her way up the pillows. Slid under the covers. Drifted off into a flying haze of sleep.

  
Slowly settled back to ground, refreshed and rested, when she felt someone playing with her hair. Yang took a deep breath, realized why her hair being touched wasn't setting her off. Now that the blood was out of her nose, she could smell... Blake. Not that Blake wore perfume, but just... her. The faintest scent of her hair, her sweat. Yang opened her eyes.

* * *

Yang's eyes snapped open at the Boarbatusk's snarl. She rolled to her feet, kept her back to the concrete wall of the bridge underpass. It pawed the muddy ground, rain still drizzling down on it. Triggering Ember Celica and her artificial arm's shotgun, she growled back. "You are the _worst_ alarm clock." It spun forward into a charge, and Yang raised her weapons.


End file.
